The leader.

He stood tall and broad, nearly Entinos’ height, though his build was leaner, hardened by endurance rather than brute strength. His skin was dark, earthen, matching the deep black of his horns. There was no mistaking him for anything but a Rhaadkat. Metal plates were fitted across his torso and shoulders, worn smooth by years of use. A heavy armband encircled one muscular arm, etched with clan markings, while custom-forged greaves protected his paws.

With a calm motion of his hand, he gave a signal, The warriors moved instantly.

They dropped from the surrounding stones and trees with lethal precision, weapons flashing in the moonlight as they surrounded us in a tight ring. Spears levelled. Blades drawn. For the second time in our journey, we were encircled by satyrs ready to kill at a word.

“I’m getting really fucking tired of being arrested,” Noor muttered, raising her hands with an exaggerated sigh.

Entinos rose from the stone where he’d been sitting, slowly and deliberately. He lifted one hand in a gesture of peace and glanced at me, a silent request to trust him.
I nodded and stepped forward with him.

Entinos bowed his head slightly toward the satyr leader, a formal vow of respect. Nixia followed, her posture rigid but controlled.

The leader’s gaze swept over us one by one, assessing and measuring us before settling on Entinos.

“You brought them all…” His voice lowered. “…here?”

Nixia opened her mouth to speak, but Entinos stepped in first.

“Yes, Dryon. I did,” he said evenly. “Nixia aided us, but the choice was mine. If there is punishment to be given, it falls on me.”

A faint, sideways smirk tugged at Dryon’s mouth.

“You haven’t changed at all, Xhoqlum.” His eyes sharpened. “I have no interest in punishment. Only curiosity.” He gestured toward us. “Why return after choosing exile, and with humans of all things? It is… unbecoming, to surround yourself with so many Gipkuhs.”

“I no longer go by that name, Dryon,” Entinos replied calmly. “That life is behind me.” He paused, the weight of the moment settling in his shoulders. “You’re right. I never planned to return. But the world moved faster than any of us expected.”

He turned slightly toward his people.

“We came to help.”

Dryon stared at him, clearly resisting the urge to laugh or dismiss him outright. “You are always welcome to offer help,” he said slowly, “but I fail to see how they contribute to our plight.”

“Dryon,” Entinos pressed, voice tightening, “we know about Vod. This cannot continue.”

The shift was immediate.

Dryon’s expression hardened, his features carving into stone. “Then you know what he has done to us.” He paused, making his words hit. “Very well. Speak. What do you propose? I will hear you, if only out of respect for what you once were.”

Entinos nodded, grateful. “In my travels, I’ve met many beings, powerful, strange or dangerous.” His gaze settled on me. “But none like those who stand with me now.”

“These people were sent by the gods,” he continued, voice steady, “to stop an ancient evil that threatens us all.”

Dryon studied him for a long moment, then turned to me. The satyr holding my arm stepped back at a subtle gesture from his leader.

“Is this true?” Dryon asked, his tone calm, but sharp.

“Yes,” I answered evenly.

He inhaled slowly. “You carry a strange scent,” he admitted. “Not fully human. Not fully divine.” His eyes narrowed. “You are not a Gipkuh. That much, I concede.”

“He,” Entinos said, pointing to me, “and those two,” gesturing to Noor and Iris, “are Chosen.” His voice lowered. “But him…” He met Dryon’s gaze. “He is the one who shifts the balance.”

Dryon began to circle us, hooves striking stone. “You claim the gods forged him.”

“Yes,” Entinos said. “To fight what comes.”

“What is the name of this threat?” Dryon asked.

“Erebosian,” I said, letting the word carry weight. “An ancient clan of warlocks. They seek the conquest of the world and Olympus itself. We believe they control, or
have allied with, the primordial beasts.” I held his gaze. “And we believe Vod is working with them.”

A low murmur rippled through the Rhaadkat. A combination of Unease mixed with fear and Anger.

Dryon turned away, staring up at the moon as if searching for confirmation in its cold light. “I do not know these Erebosians,” he said at last. “But I know Vod.” He turned back to us. “And I know something is deeply wrong.”

He stepped forward.

“For months now, our lands have suffered. Crops rot. Wildlife dies. The Cheqae had a vision, they spoke of a poisoned cloud, a sickness spreading beneath the soil.” His jaw tightened. “It led us west, into the Darklands.”

Entinos stiffened.

“A vote was cast,” Dryon continued. “Chiron took a group of centaurs and Recniq to investigate.” His voice lowered. “We have heard nothing since.”
A heavy silence followed.

“But that was only the beginning,” Dryon said grimly. “Vod fed fear to the clans. By the time we understood what he was doing, the Kauq and the Vasin stood with
him… whether out of terror or belief, I cannot say.”

He exhaled sharply.

“When we opposed the Call of the Forest and the Ritual of Thorns, we were branded traitors. The Recniq and Vasin outnumbered us.” His eyes darkened. “Vod would have executed us, if not for the Cheqae intervening. Instead, we were exiled.”

Entinos clenched his jaw. “He has lost his mind.”

“No,” Noor said quietly.

All eyes turned to her.

“He hasn’t,” she continued, voice calm, precise. “He’s been corrupted.”

I frowned. “What do you mean Noor?”

“When we met Vod in Egosea, I sensed something wrong,” Noor said. “Not just his intent, his mana.” She paused. “Satyrs cannot wield mana as far as I was concerned
and the book confirmed my suspicion. The Cheqae appear to be the only exception.”

Dryon’s brow furrowed. “And yet he does.”

“Because someone gave it to him,” Noor said firmly. “Empowered him. Strengthened his hold over the clans.” She looked at me, then back at Dryon. “The poison in
your lands? It matches the same corruption.”

“That is a bold claim,” Dryon said, though uncertainty had crept into his tone.

“That someone,” Noor finished, “is an Erebosian.”

The murmurs exploded.

“Silence!” Dryon commanded, his voice cracking like thunder. The clearing stilled. He looked troubled now, not dismissive. “This would explain much.” A pause. “But
I cannot act without proof.”

“Cyffor said the same,” I said. “That’s why we came.”

“We are not asking you to march,” Entinos said, stepping forward. “We ask for aid. Knowledge. Support. Whatever you can give.” His voice rose slightly. “I left you once. Now I return, not as who I was, but as one of you.”

I stepped beside him. “We will go into the Darklands. We will find Chiron. And we will stop Vod.”

Dryon studied us for a long moment.

“Give us until dawn,” he said at last. “Then you will have your answer.” He motioned to his warriors. “Prepare yourselves. I fear the days ahead will rise beneath a red sun.”

The satyrs eventually withdrew, Nixia accompanying them back toward their encampment deeper within the forest. As much as they trusted us, or perhaps because of it, they would not allow outsiders near the civilians who shared their exile.

We were left alone beneath the ancient Stonehenge, its towering pillars carved with runes worn smooth by time.

The group settled into a loose circle around a small fire. Sparks drifted upward, vanishing into the night.

“Well,” Entinos said at last, breaking the silence, “that went… better than I expected.”

It was the first time I’d heard anything close to genuine surprise, or relief, in his voice.

Ikaro snorted softly. “Better than expected? We were surrounded, accused, and nearly declared enemies of the forest.”

Entinos allowed himself a faint smirk, then exhaled deeply, the sound carrying something heavier than fatigue. His gaze shifted to Noor, steady and intent.

“You were right, Sorceress,” he said quietly. “I’ve been withholding parts of who I was… and who I am.”
The fire crackled between us.

“What I’m about to tell you,” He continued, “will define how you see me from this moment forward. If, after this, you decide I am too dangerous to remain among you, I will respect your judgment. I will leave.”

“Entinos—” Iris began, concern tightening her features.

He raised a hand gently, stopping her. “Let me finish.”

He straightened slightly, as though bracing himself for impact.

“Before I met Basilius,” he said, “I was an honored warrior of the Rhaadkat clan. My title was Xhoqlum.” The word carried weight, old and high ranking.

“I had a good life here. Nixia was my first lover, we cared for one another deeply, but we both knew it was never meant to last. Later, I met my wife. Her name was Zisari.”

For the first time, his voice wavered.

“She was my world. We had two daughters. After they were born, I stepped away from my duties with Dryon’s blessing. I thought… I thought I had earned peace.”

His eyes fixed on the embers of the fire, glowing red like dying stars.

“Then one night… a mob came to our home outside Egosea.”

The forest seemed to hold its breath.

“I wasn’t there,” he said, the words tasting like ash. “When I returned, the door was broken. The air smelled of smoke and iron. I remember calling their names, over
and over until my voice broke.”

His jaw tightened.

“I found them inside. My daughters’ hands were still clasped together. Zisari’s eyes were open… staring at nothing.”

No one spoke. Even the fire seemed quieter.

“I held them,” he continued hoarsely. “And in that moment, something inside me shattered. I swore an oath, to hunt every last one of those monsters down.”

His hands clenched at his sides.

“But I didn’t stop with them,” he admitted. “My rage consumed me. I began running with Vod’s cleansing parties. He told me we were hunting xenophobic killers. I believed him.”

His gaze darkened.

“One night, we reached a small town. Vod claimed they struck first. I didn’t question him. I trusted him.”

His voice dropped to a near whisper.

“My blade didn’t stop until I entered one of the houses. Beneath the floorboards… there was a hidden hatch.”

He swallowed.

“There were no weapons. No soldiers. Just families. Children. Their eyes were wide with terror, as if we were reapers sent by Thanatos himself.”

The image hung in the air, unbearable.

“We weren’t hunting murderers,” he said. “We were cleansing humans. And I helped him do it.”

Aerys turned away; jaw tight. A small gasp escaped her lips at the horrors she was hearing.

“They gathered them in the town square to execute them,” Entinos went on. “That’s when I confronted Vod. I told him this wasn’t justice. That this was slaughter.”

A bitter laugh escaped him. “He didn’t deny it. He enjoyed it.”

Entinos lifted his head, eyes burning.

“I challenged him to a duel. If I won, I could leave, and the humans would be spared. If I lost… I would stand trial for treason.”

“Bastard,” Aerys muttered, venom sharp in her tone.

“I won,” Entinos said simply. “But victory didn’t save me. It broke me.”

He paused, breathing through the memory.

“Being humiliated in front of his warriors planted hatred deep within Vod’s heart. I could feel it. I left the clan soon after, with Dryon’s consent. Nixia tried to stop
me… but I was hollow. I needed to mourn alone.”

His shoulders sagged.

“Months later, drowning myself in regret, I found Basilius, being beaten up in an alley in Mycenae. I don’t know why I helped him. Maybe I saw myself in him.”
A faint, almost fond chuckle escaped him.

“He offered me a place on his ship. Free drinks sealed the deal. But what I didn’t know… was that through friendship, I found peace again. And myself.”

He straightened, finally meeting all of our eyes. “And the rest it is known to you all.”

“That is who I am,” he said. “Now… I await your response.”

Silence wrapped around us.

Then Noor stood.

She stepped toward Entinos, eyes shining, and before he could react, she embraced him tightly.

Her sob broke the stillness.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered against his arm. “I never should have doubted you.” The sorceress, for the first time, broke in the arms of someone else than Kayn’s.

Entinos froze, truly frozen, for the first time since I had met him. Then, slowly, uncertainly, he returned the hug, one hand resting gently against her back.

In that moment, the stoic satyr was defenceless.

And he didn’t need to be strong anymore.

Watching them, I felt something settle into place within me.

He belongs with us, I realized. Not because of who he was… but because he chose to face it.

And this night the fire before us felt warm, not fragile.